Larkspur Road (19 page)

“I…I don’t think so.” Britt swallowed another bite of the granola bar. She didn’t look like she was enjoying it much.

“Was anyone else’s car spray-painted?”

Britt shook her head. “Only Seth’s.” She moistened her lips. “He…he was so upset. He said his parents will have to call the insurance company and everything.”

“Well, I hope Sheriff Hodge catches whoever was behind it.”

“So do I!” Britt’s tone was so fierce, Mia stared at her.

The girl broke a tiny bit off the last quarter of her granola
bar and fed it to Samson, who gently nibbled it, his tail wagging.

“I had an email from my mom and one from my dad this morning.” Britt changed the subject abruptly.

“And?” Mia leaned forward. “How are the honeymooners doing?”

“Good, I guess. Mom said Corfu is beautiful. She sent me a photo of her and Alec on the beach—they looked really happy. She wrote that she bought me a present in a shop in some little village down the road from their hotel.”

“Lucky you! I don’t suppose she mentioned anything about a present for her wonderful baby sister?”

That earned her only a fleeting smile. “Nope. Can’t say she did.”

“And your dad…what’s up with him?” Mia asked.

“He has to go to China and then Singapore for some tech conferences. The guy from his company who was supposed to speak at them was in a bad car accident, so Dad has to fill in. He’s leaving tomorrow and won’t be back for a couple of weeks. Around the same time as Mom. So,” she added, biting her lip and trying to muster a smile, “I guess you really are stuck with me for a while. I couldn’t go home to Butte now even if I wanted to.”

“Not unless you wanted to spend some time with Gwen and Tate.”

As Britt’s shoulders stiffened, Mia said gently, “Not that I want you to go. We did plan on the whole summer, didn’t we?” She set down her coffee cup and pushed back her chair as Samson trotted to the door and looked back at her hopefully. Following him, she opened the door and let him out.

Rain had moved in late last night and the world was washed clean, the sun gleaming across the bright grass and the lavender-gray peaks of the mountains.

“Since you’re not working today, how’d you like to take a ride with me out to Aunt Winny’s place?” she suggested, returning to her chair.

For the first time, Britt seemed to shake off her dejection. Interest brightened her sea blue eyes. “Really? You’re going to see Great-Aunt Winny? I’ve always wanted to meet her. I heard all those whispers when I was little about how she and Gram got into a big fight and Winny ran away. I always wanted to know what happened. But Mom says Winny doesn’t want anything to do with our family.”

“That’s what Winny says, too. But I’m checking on her whether she likes it or not. And I’m bringing her a Tupperware full of tuna salad and another of fruit. Thought I’d bake up some chocolate-frosted brownies, too. Gram’s recipe.”

“I’ll go with you.” For the first time today, Britt’s smile looked genuine, even eager as she leaned back in her chair. “Do you really think she’ll let us in?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Three hours later Mia took a good look around but spotted no sign of the orange tabby as she and Brittany left the Jeep and made their way across the uneven gravel toward Winny’s cabin.

Mia carried the containers of tuna salad and fruit—an assortment of apples, plums, strawberries, and green grapes. Brittany clutched the plate of still-warm-from-the-oven brownies covered in foil.

The desolate little clearing on the side of the mountain was silent but for the wind whining through the pines. It was a lonely sound.

“She really lives here all alone?” Brittany whispered. “It’s kind of spooky out here. I’d be scared.”

“Winny would have everyone believe she likes it. Maybe she even does.” Mia kept her voice low.

Upon reaching the porch, she was pleased to see there were no longer any rotting planks or buckling wood. Denny McDonald had done a seamless repair job. Balancing the food in one hand, Mia knocked sharply on the cabin door with the other.

This time, unlike the last, Winny’s gruff voice boomed through the door almost immediately. “I don’t remember inviting anyone to my home.”

“My mom always taught me that family doesn’t need an invitation,” Mia called through the door. “How are you feeling, Aunt Winny?”

“I
felt
pretty damned good before someone came down my road and disturbed me.”

“Your great-grandniece wants to meet you.”

There was silence.

“What’s that you say? Who?”

“Brittany. My sister Samantha’s daughter.”

She looked over at Britt. “Say something,” she whispered.

“Hi, Aunt Winny,” the girl called out in a high-pitched, breathless tone. “Can we come in? We have brownies and…and some other stuff for you. I’m visiting Aunt Mia for the summer and…and I’ve heard so much about you—” She broke off suddenly, flushing. “Nothing bad, of course,” she said quickly. “Just about…how you hurt your foot and how Aunt Mia’s really worried about you.”

“I’ll just bet she is.” The word was a harsh bark. The door remained closed.

“Aunt Winny,” Mia tried again, her tone full of determination. “We only want—”

Without warning, the door swung open.

Winona Jane Pruitt stood there in faded yellow cotton pants, a pink and green print top, an old sneaker on one foot and the other wrapped in bandages that left her toes wriggling free. To Mia’s surprise, her toenails were painted a glittery sparkling blue, her fingernails bright orange.

She was a slim, tall woman, a good four inches taller than Gram. Her features were sharper, more defined, Mia noticed. There were traces still of striking beauty, even at seventy-odd years. Winny’s dark gray hair was still thick and straight. She wore it pulled back into a severe knot at
her nape, secured with dozens of brown bobby pins, but it framed a face that had a timeless chiseled elegance.

But that face wore a frown. And there was mistrust simmering in her eyes, which were a deeper brown than Gram’s—sable-colored, really—dark and intelligent. And wary.

“Come in then. But be quick about it, if you don’t want to let all that hot air in.”

She moved aside, her lips compressed tightly together, and Mia slipped past her before she could change her mind. Britt skittered in after Mia, eyes wide. The moment the girl was inside, Winny slammed the door.

The cabin had no air-conditioning and it was warm inside, but a table fan blew the warm air around the somewhat barren, but neat-as-a-pin living room. The furnishings were few—a curved old sofa with springs poking through the floral fabric on one end, floral curtains that once might have been rose colored but were now faded to a blush pink, two matching armchairs with pretty needlepoint cushions propped against their backs, and a small white wicker chest for a coffee table. A birdcage perched on top of a whatnot chest filled with books. Inside the cage a white pot brimmed with ivy, which trailed cheerfully through the bars of the cage.

To Mia’s surprise, she spotted the tabby peering warily around the kitchen counter. The cat had looked almost feral the last time Mia had seen it, but now it appeared almost calm, and remarkably at home.

Someone has more of a heart than she’s willing to let on,
she thought with a glimmer of hope.

“You may as well put whatever you brought over there.”

Winny waved a hand toward the kitchen counter and Mia set the tuna salad and fruit on its surface. Britt followed suit with the plate holding the brownies as the cat inched out from behind the counter, swishing its tail.

“Was it you who sent that McDonald boy out here to fix my porch?” Winny demanded, limping to one of the armchairs and sinking down on it with a grimace. Mia wasn’t sure if the grimace was due to the pain of walking or their presence in her home.

“I guess you could say I’m guilty as charged.” Without waiting to be invited, Mia walked to the sofa and sat down near one end, avoiding the places where the broken springs poked through.

Britt followed suit and perched on the opposite end, leaning forward, her flip-flops resting against the edge of an old blue and red needlepoint rug.

“Well, who asked you to stick your nose—and McDonald’s—into my business?” the old woman bit out.

Mia’s brows rose. “I didn’t want you to trip and get hurt again. That broken board was dangerous. Believe it or not, Aunt Winny, you
do
have people in this town who care about you.”

Her aunt snorted and narrowed her eyes. “That’s a load of bunk and you know it, young lady. Abner Floyd is the only one in this town who gives a hoot about whether I live or fall off this mountain tomorrow. You’re after something, aren’t you?”

“You’ve got me there.” Mia smiled. “I do want something. I’ll admit it. I want to get to know you.”

“So do I,” Britt piped up. She looked pretty and flushed and nervous, but she spoke quickly, as if she needed to get the words out. “And my mom does, too. She’s always saying we don’t have much family left, except for Aunt Mia—and you. And I can tell it makes her sad sometimes—not knowing you, that is. My mom told me you ran away years ago, when you and Gram were young, but none of us know why. Not that we expect you to tell us,” she added hastily. “I mean…we’re curious, of course, but you…d-don’t have to…” Britt’s voice trailed off as Winny’s cheeks darkened
to a deep, mottled shade of plum, and her long slim fingers knotted in her lap.

“Is that what you think? That I ran away?” Winny gave a short laugh, a caustic sound in the tiny cabin. Mia detected sadness beneath it as well.

“We don’t exactly know what happened,” she replied carefully. “And you don’t have to tell us, if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t.” Winny’s lips clamped together.

“The only thing we care about now is making sure you’re all right.” Mia cast a reassuring glance at her niece. Britt looked like she was afraid to say anything else, and Mia felt a sudden tinge of worry. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought Britt out here today. She’d been upset enough this morning—she didn’t need any more drama right now. Despite having admitted them to her home, Winny’s manner was nothing short of hostile.

“What does Doc Grantham say about your foot? Is it healing?” She shifted the conversation to what she hoped was a neutral subject.

“Healing? If that’s what it’s doing, it’s sure taking its own sweet time. That doctor changed the bandage and told me to come back in about ten days so he can check things out again. Not that it’s anybody’s business,” she sniffed, throwing Mia a glance that clearly said:
This means you, missy
.

Just then the cat streaked across the room and startled Britt, who gasped as the tabby leaped into Winny’s lap and gave the loudest meow Mia had ever heard.

“Hush, you,” Winny said absently, but she began to stroke the tabby’s head with long, thin fingers. Mia noticed that her eyes had softened the moment the cat landed in her lap.

“I’d be happy to take you to your next appointment at the hospital.” Mia leaned back against the sofa, which creaked at the slightest movement. It wasn’t very comfortable and she guessed the furniture in the cabin was nearly as old as
Winny herself. “Just tell me the day and time and I’ll come pick you up.”

“Now, why would you want to do that?”

“Because family helps family.”

Winny’s skin flushed that deep plum color again. “I’m not part of your family. I was thrown out. Thrown away. Like so much garbage. Anyone ever tell you
that
?”

Mia caught her breath. Shook her head. Glancing at Britt, she saw that the girl’s mouth had fallen open.

“No one ever told me anything about what happened. Samantha has no idea either. Gram never talked about it. Or about you. And she didn’t tell our mother either.”

Winny looked startled, but quickly recovered, wiping away all trace of emotion from her elegantly chiseled face.

“Whatever it was—whatever happened all those years ago—it doesn’t matter anymore.” Mia met her eyes. “Not to us. You’re here, Aunt Winny, and so are we. You’re family. We’d all like you to be part of our lives—if you want to be.”

Silence as deep as a forgotten well settled over the old cabin.

For almost a minute there was no sound but the whir of the fan, and a clock ticking loudly from another room.

Britt sat as still as stone, a slender figure on the old sofa. Winny stared at Mia, her dark sable eyes seeming to sear into her face. Something flickered in them, something that looked like wonder. And sadness.

Or was it hope?

“You…mean that?” Winny asked at last.

“Absolutely. I’m ashamed I haven’t tried harder before now.” It was true. Guilt pricked at her as she faced the aunt she’d not even made an overture toward for far too long.

“You have your own lives. I can’t see why you’d care to bother about mine.”

“But we do care.” Even as Mia spoke she saw Brittany lean forward.

“Maybe you can tell us some stories one day. About you and Gram when you were growing up.”

Winny stiffened and seemed about to say something biting, but then she glanced into the girl’s face and her expression softened.